Shattered
by TheLyricsAreMyStory
Summary: Carla's thoughts after the rape, leading to her attempted suicide. Lyrics used in italics belong to Trading Yesterday's 'Shattered'. Dark themes, strong/graphic language.


**Shattered:**

 _I've lost who I am and I can't understand, why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love._

"You made me do it."

 _Without, love gone wrong, lifeless words, carry on, but I know, all I know is that the end's beginning._

"You're a waste of skin."

 _Who I am, from the start, take me home, to my heart, let me go, I will run, I will not be silent._

"I'm sorry Carla, but if you think that by dumping Frank you can force my hand then you're wrong."

 _All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain, all is lost, hope remains but this war's not over._

"He did this, didn't he?"

 _There's a light, there's a sun, taking all shattered ones, to the place we belong and his love will conquer..._

"He raped me."

...

I feel broken. I feel dirty. I feel old. I feel naive. I feel stupid. I feel used. I feel hurt. I feel weak. I feel tired. I feel angry. I feel lost. I feel isolated. I feel vulnerable. I feel drained. I feel insane. I feel evil. I feel destroyed. I feel empty.

I feel shattered.

Broken. Dirty. Old. Naive. Stupid. Used. Hurt. Weak. Tired. Angry. Lost. Isolated. Vulnerable. Drained. Insane. Evil. Destroyed. Empty.

I feel shattered.

I am a mess; look at me. Look at you Carla, in the mirror. That was me. That was the torn little girl who grew up neglected. The damaged soul who prayed for a cabbage patch doll, but received a pack of biros. Broken biros. Running out of ink, messed up lids, rotting plastic.

Running out of blood, messed up thoughts, rotting flesh.

Running out of drink.

I needed a drink.

I pull myself up from the sofa and stumble over to the kitchen, pulling the freshly bought bottle of vodka out of the yellow carrier bag that lay on the kitchen surface. As my hand connects with the neck of the bottle, it fits perfectly, as if fixing a piece in a jigsaw. My sort of jigsaw; a fucked up, second hand, broken with pieces missing jigsaw.

Alive enough to screw the lid off the bottle and pour the contents into a nearby glass, I watch the liquid flow, satisfaction in my eyes. I stare at it intently, satisfaction fills my sinuses. I down it in one, satisfaction sets my throat on fire.

I wince at the taste, the bitter taste which punishes my self hatred. It punishes me. I feel the substance coarse through my body, through my veins, poisoning me. Filling the gaps that food had not met for days.

I take another.

I breathe in and out.

I take another.

I wince in agony.

I take another.

I rest my eyelids, too heavy to keep open for much longer.

* * *

How was I still managing to get myself up every day? To move my limbs, to strain my vocal chords? I had no energy left to try. After years of torture and weak strength, hopelessness, hurt, hatred. I was giving up. I was past tired, I was shattered. I just wanted to sleep and to never ever wake up. It would be better that way, everybody knew it. Everybody virtually said it. It would be better off for them and it would be better off for me.

I tilt my head ever so slightly, my eyes latching onto the the bottle of pills I had been prescribed.

Was I being stupid?

I make an attempt to stand up, falling forwards against the table as I do so. I was consumed with intoxication, the glass released from my grasp and I tear my eyes away from the almost empty vodka bottle. I remain with my eyes partially closed as I stumble towards my weapon of choice, my body already lifeless before I could withdraw anything from it. I was already dead. I wasn't living, I was existing, much to everyone's loathing.

I collapse onto the chair when I reach it, my sudden shortness of breath taking me back. I resist the urge to collapse forwards, reaching for the bottle of sleeping pills and observing it deeply.

'Dosage instructions; take one tablet before bed nightly and one tablet only. Keep out of reach of children, high consumption will be dangerous.'

Dangerous.

It may as well be my middle name since my mother had not had the will to give me one.

 _I've lost who I am and I can't understand, why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love._

I try to process my thoughts, try to think up some sort of plan before screwing the lid off the bottle. I tip a pile of pills into my hand, staring down at them, my vision blurry as well as my mindset, as an effect of the drink.

 _Without, love gone wrong, lifeless words, carry on, but I know, all I know is that the end's beginning._

Before I can stop myself, I'm pressing them to my lips. I'm throwing my head back, my tangled hair encasing my shoulders. Rob and I used to do this when we were little, with smarties, we would pretend they were pills that would give us a better life.

 _Who I am, from the start, take me home, to my heart, let me go, I will run, I will not be silent._

Well this was the real thing. These were not smarties, I knew that if not anything else. But as a sacrifice, they were going to give everyone else a better life, if I couldn't have it myself.

 _All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain, all is lost, hope remains and this war's not over_.

There was one person I needed to tell, one person who needed to hear my voice, to hear how broken and hurt I was.

 _There's a light, there's a sun, taking all shattered ones, to the place, we belong and his love will conquer all._

 **"I just wanted to say goodbye."**


End file.
